


To Have and to Hold

by GamblingDementor



Category: Twisted: The Untold Story of a Royal Vizier - Holmes/McMahon/Lang & Lang & Gale
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-13 03:45:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19592767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GamblingDementor/pseuds/GamblingDementor
Summary: Ja'far and Sherezade's wedding night or, the first of a thousand thousands of nights.Read at your own risk: VERY sentimental.





	To Have and to Hold

**Author's Note:**

> Let's pretend the visit at the palace never happened, okay? I can't handle it. This is just wedding night fluff. Don't mind me.

Sherrezade and Ja'far's wedding was a hurried and uneventful affair.

Few friends attended it, neither of them sociable beyond simple courtesy, neither of them caring to be. The ceremony was short, the feast hardly any longer, though not lacking in warmth or conviviality. It made no difference either way. There might as well have been not a soul so long as they had each other. Ja'Far didn't believe in magic, but the sight of his lovely bride cloaked in a borrowed dress, her veil hiding nothing of her smile, made his heart swell with wonder and awe all the same as if he had been bewitched. That spell was no illusion. Her hand wouldn't leave his all night. It made eating very difficult but Ja'Far found that he lacked any appetite if for her conversation and company. The moment he had sworn his life to Sherrezade was the moment his life had truly begun. He had eyes for none else at all. He never would.

There was dancing and laughing and drinking and even some singing, and mostly a lot of talking. It dwindled down by the end of the night, the guests leaving one by one then all at once until Ja'far and Sherrezade were facing only each other in an empty venue they would have to clean up on the morrow. He smiled, suddenly filled with shyness. He felt so very warm, the best attire he'd put on now heavy and much too thick on his sweating back.

"Tell me, husband," she said, clasping his hand very tight, "Do you recall the next part of this story?"

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, bringing their joined hands to his heart.

"I might have heard parts of it," he said, leaning to kiss her knuckles. "Will you be patient, wife, and tell it to me again?"

She smiled with all the charm in the world.

"I think I recall the happy couple going home," she said.

"Home, then," he returned her smile.

Ja'far's apartments were far from luxurious. Assistant vizier wasn't such a lowly position, but he would typically spend his wages on charity and keep for himself only enough to clothe and feed himself from one day to the next. The selfish thought came to him that this might be about to change. As his beautiful wife stepped into their home for the first time, he felt at once ashamed of how simple it was. Such bland living might have suited a young man with nothing to want for but Sherrezade deserved expensive scarves and precious stones and exquisite meals. When she turned back to him, however, he knew by the look on her face that there was nothing lacking here in her eyes.

"It's not much," he admitted, "But it's home."

"You're here, so it's home," she corrected and he loved her more than he had ever loved anything in the world.

He fiddled with the lamp on the table and soon the room that was their whole humble home was bathing in its warm dim light. His hands were moist with his nerve and he dared not look at his wife. Of course, he had made the bed fresh this morning and well intended to lay her in it, but there was a way and a time to do such things. For better or for worse, knowledgeable as he was in all manners of studies, Ja'far was clueless with the facts of life. He was still making up his mind on the next step of action when arms circled his waist from behind and he heard Sherrezade muffle a satisfied sigh into his back.

"This part's one I've been waiting for," she purred.

She toyed with the flap of his coat, trying to pry it open. Ja'far's heart was drumming inside his chest and his fingers were shaking when he helped her unbutton and shrug the damn garment off of him. It fell on the floor and was left there, forgotten by the both of them. Ja'far turned around and Sherrezade nestled herself into him, hands flat on the fabric sticking to his chest. Her veil was off since she had entered their home, her hair beautifully down to her shoulders, longer than he thought. For a few seconds they simply looked into each other's eyes, till she broke into a grin and leaned up to kiss him. It was tender, but more as well. Eager fingers reached the collar of his tunic, playing with the skin just under and surely, she must have felt his heartbeat racing under her touch. The way she smiled into the kiss, she might have.

"Take me to bed, Ja'far," she whispered.

She took a small step backwards, still grasping him by the neck and he could only match her step towards the bed in the corner. The air was thick with the late spring heat, with the smell of oil slowly burning, and with the anticipation. By the time the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed, he was burning with it. Her hand rubbed his chest one last time through the fabric, then made quick way of the buttons and hungrily stroked across his bare skin revealed. Ja'far's breath hitched. He stared down at her in wonder, any hint of rational thought entirely gone from his mind.

"Should I..."

But he stopped, realizing he didn't know what he should do, nothing beyond the very basic shape of it. Sherrezade, his clever Sherrezade, did. Tenderly, slowly, she brushed the tunic off his arms, letting it fall on the ground. Emboldened by her marked interest in what she had exposed, Ja'far reached out, tried to unveil his bride as she had him. His fingers were numb and helpless and the attempt was in vain.

"How does this... How does it open, my love?"

She gave him a smile that wasn't entirely without teasing, but gently took his hand and pulled it to her back. Together, they unclasped the dress. It flopped off. There was nothing underneath, nothing but the beauty of his wife and a growing desire in the both of them, near unbearable. Ja'far sighed out a breath he hadn't meant to be holding. They tumbled back on the bed in an inelegant mingling of limbs and he was terrified to be doing everything wrong, to be crushing or hurting her, to be too dull, too inexperienced, but Sherrezade only stared up in adoration, parting her legs for him to rest in between and perhaps because of how calm she was, he could feel his own nerve soothing down a little. Only a little.

"Ja'far, tell me," she said. Her hands cupped his face gently, begging him to look into her eyes, a soft smile, so much trust. "Do you love me?"

The question baffled him and he felt his cheeks burn up against her touch.

"Yes, of course," he said at once, though his voice was stumbling against the words despite himself. "More than anything in the world."

Her smile was so tender, so understanding.

"Then love me," she said simply, always one step ahead, always twice as clever as him even at understanding his own heart.

He kissed her and every last morsel of love he held in him poured out into it, lost itself into her embrace. He loved her so wholly, so deeply, the feeling coursing through him, more vital than even his life's blood. If that was enough for her, it only made him love her all the more for it. He kissed her perfect and perfectly pink lips till she encouraged him to her neck, and how intoxicating the delicious scent of her in the crook of it. He kissed her jaw, her ear, right under it where he found her most sensitive. He kissed her collarbone, a sharp line he would have to learn by heart. He blushed deeper still and kissed her breasts, the most blessed shape of Allah's Creation. Her fingers combed through his hair leisurely as her body bent itself into his caress. The lazy stroke of bare toes was running up and down his calves and he felt completely so safe in her tightening embrace.

"Sherrezade, my darling," he said, not daring to lift his voice beyond a mutter for fear the moment would escape his grasp too soon.

He pressed his hand to her thigh, a soft touch, the suggestion of another sort.

"Yes, my love?"

Sherrezade showed no such fear as him. Often, it seemed to Ja'far that Sherrezade knew no fear at all.

"Teach me how to… how to love you."

His wife was brave, and she was intelligent and oh so beautiful, but above all she was kind. His heart skipped a beat, so sweet the smile she gave him.

"All these books," she teased, "and you still don't know."

Gently, she took hold of his hand and he let himself be guided between her legs.

"Because love cannot be contained in any page," she said. Their fingers brushed against damp curls and he had forgotten how to breathe, how to think. "It loves solely in the moment…" With a flick of the wrist, she made him feel how warm she was, how wet, how eager for him to lead them both to bliss by his caress. Her voice was miracles and wonders and it lowered to a hush, beckoning him to listen all the more carefully. "… where two hearts beat as one."

She pressed his fingers inside her and Ja'far let out a strangled cry that might have been a moan. A life of service and knowledge entirely disappeared in an instant and all that was real, all that was true was only to be found in this bed, plain in sight in the dark pupils of Sherrezade's beautiful eyes. She taught him the secret art of how to pleasure her − Ja'far had never been a more applied pupil − and never looked away. He touched her and, all the same as she pushed herself into his touch, moaned and squirmed for him and for herself, she never looked away. She must have wanted, he thought, for him to know that his attentions weren't for naught. They were freely given but how much better received and cherished. He had wanted to shower her with love and yet her good care ended up surpassing his, better than him in every way.

"Oh, Ja'far," she whimpered. "Ja'far, my _husband_."

No matter what he had been told, marriage was in fact consuming him and not the other way around. He was hard, of course, and his trousers felt more and more unnecessary and ought to be gotten rid of but he knew he might die if he stopped touching her even for such a brief time as it would take to pull them off. He didn't need to, anyway. Soft fingers brushed against his stomach, tugging at the waist.

"May I?"

" _Please_ ," he groaned and at once her hand passed under the fabric to touch him.

He never knew how confined and uncomfortable he had been before she pulled him out, how much he had needed her until she gave herself to him. She wasn't quite as inept as him ; in an instant he was at her mercy. She stroked him tightly, perfectly, staring up with large enamored eyes. She bit her lip.

"Ja'far," she said softly, pulling his hand from her and wrapping it around him with her own. "Make me your wife."

He smiled dumbly.

"You _are_ my wife," he said, but she took him all the same, her legs circling his hips and pushing him forward, and she drove him inside her.

He pushed deeper, faster than he realized, fully seated inside her in one thrust which made both of them cling to each other all the tighter. Their foreheads were touching and Ja'far pressed a gentle kiss against her lips. He did not think he would ever find the serenity that filled him now again in his life. This moment was fleeting, and fast, but he was capturing it just in time and he well intended on living it to the fullest while it lasted.

"I _am_ your wife," she sighed amorously. "How I love you, Ja'far."

"And I love _you_ ," he replied at once, eager to show it but mindful to be tender with her. "Sherrezade, I could not love anyone more or better in all the days of my life."

Her arms were around his neck, keeping him close as could be, and she kissed him again. He felt her hips gently rock into his.

"Show me how you love me, then," she said and Ja'far showed her.

It came more naturally than he had thought or expected from the moments just before. Sherrezade's body seemed to be melting into his, a hot, panting, sweating fusion of two people, and it was silly and absurd but it all suddenly made sense. A rolling of the hips matching hers, a wave ever crashing into paradise, a heart beating as hard and fast as his own. He made love to her to the best of his abilities. It wasn't much, but she took him all the same, soft moans he wanted to hear every night, every day so long as they both lived.

"I love you," he repeated a thousand times. He pressed his face into her neck where she held him, loving him with every touch, with every thrust. "I'm yours. I've always been yours."

It did not last long. His fault, of course, though her own doing as well, how warm and soft and comfortable he was in her, and in her arms, how perfectly they fit. A few last thrusts, more erratic too, a low groan he muffled into her neck, her hair, and his pleasure was satisfied for now. He didn't think he could ever move again, ever leave this bed. She brushed a wet curl of hair behind his ear. Her fingers were soft, lingering against the back of his neck and he felt a kiss pressed against the crown of his head. He wondered what words of thanks would even translate the raw force of what he was feeling, but came up momentarily short. He settled for leaning up on shaky elbows and kissing her deeply, hoping that would suffice for her to understand. Her tousled hair covered the pillow, a cascade of beauty, her cheeks warm with a faint blush.

"I feel very loved," she said and he loved her all the more for it, for understanding him beyond words. He lacked her skills. She gave him a smile and gently pressed her hands to his shoulders, the hint of motion. "Would you…"

"Oh! Oh, sorry. Sorry, my dear…"

He rolled off of her, staring up at the ceiling dreamily. She sat up and he sneaked a peek at her naked form as she jumped off the bed to go fill the wash basin with fresh water to clean herself. He thought better than to invade her privacy and kept his eyes to himself, the memory of her more than enough, the promise of so many more nights and days at her side suddenly overwhelming every part of him.

"I thought I couldn't love you more," he said out loud, almost as much to himself as to her. With another, the words would have sounded foolish to him, and hasty too, but confessing his love for Sherrezade was only as natural as breathing out the air he'd breathed in. "But I do. And I will love you even more tomorrow, and more yet every day after that. Forever."

He caught a glance she threw his way and smiled. She smiled back. The blush had not left her cheeks.

"I'm hardly used to how well you love me already," she admitted.

"And you can't!" He said, getting animated with the silly schmaltz of it all − when else than on their one and only wedding night? "Because it's not enough. You deserve more and better."

He could not stop smiling. The house, which had seemed shabby and poor to him earlier, now seemed absolutely perfect. He wanted to live always within conversation range of his wife, to be near her. Water stopped running and he heard the small splashing sounds of the washcloth being plunged in water and wrung out. It was delightfully domestic.

"I can tell you, Ja'far, that no one has ever loved me better."

That brought a question to his mind he had wondered about before but never found the moment − or indeed the courage − to ask. In fact, now was precisely the moment _not_ to ask but the words left his mouth all the same.

"Were there others, then?"

A pause of silence. He regretted asking, but at the same time desired to know the answer so much he felt no regret at all. He did not dare look at Sherrezade for fear of having hurt her feelings, disappointed her. He did not feel much like smiling anymore.

"My darling," she said and her voice sounded soft as ever. That was a small relief, but a relief nonetheless. "It's our wedding night. Do you really wish to ask about that part of my story tonight?"

"I'm sorry," he blurted out at once. "You're right, you're right…"

From the corner of his eye, he saw she was coming back to bed and thought himself safe in looking. She was wearing a bathrobe that belonged to him, but when she caught his eye and saw him smiling self-consciously, she shrugged the robe off and went back to bed as naked as she had left it. She sat in front of him, taking his hands in hers. A deep breath, and she talked.

"There _were_ others," she said. "Two other men before you."

He nodded cautiously but said no more.

"I loved the first one for three months," she went on. "The second for a night, just after the first." She paused again and smiled before adding, "Neither as much as you, my love. I'm _your_ wife."

"I'm not…" _Jealous_ , he wondered. _Upset_. Allah forbid, even _angry_. He wasn't anything like that. What had happened before she knew him mattered as little as his own life before he had known her. It had hardly been a life at all when so much of him had been missing then. "I just wanted to know your story. I was… I think I was curious."

"I'll tell you what I think about my story," she said, scooting closer to him. She smelled like soap and boundless fondness. "The first man will be a paragraph in it, maybe a page. The second a sentence in passing." She took his hand to her face and pressed her cheek against it, nuzzling. "You'll be volumes, my dear."

His heart fluttered with affection and he knew that he had spoken the truth earlier. He did love her more every instant that passed.

"Do you wish to know more?"

He shook his head.

"I'd rather go back to _our_ story."

"That's the part I'll remember too," she said and the topic was closed. She didn't ask about him. He supposed they both knew the answer already.

Lying back, he opened up his arms for her to rest between them, her head tucked against his shoulder, and pulled the cover to their waists. It was getting fresher, but the excitement of the night had left him very warm, even hot. He had never shared a bed before, but he knew he could never bear to lie in it on his own again. So strange the way the path of life twisted itself this way and that, how he could have met her so recently and yet known at once that there was no life without her. Even now as they lay in silence, the air was buzzing with the excited thrill of their lives beginning anew.

"Are you asleep?" He asked after long moments of not talking.

Immediately she shook her head.

"I can't," she said. "I never thought I'd see the day, and now… I don't want it to end."

He huffed a silent laugh, pulling her closer. In his arms, she was small and frail, though he knew her to be so much stronger than him in her heart.

"I don't know if I'll ever want to sleep again," he said, "So as not to miss a second with you."

She stirred in his arms and sat up. Straddling his lap, she made herself comfortable atop him and looked more beautiful than perfection itself. Her hair tickled his shoulders as she gave him a kiss that desired for more.

"Let's not sleep right now, then, dear husband."

And they did not sleep for the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!!! PLEASE leave a comment if you've read this! Please!


End file.
